


Coming to the Valley

by bunn



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Lindon (Tolkien), Rivendell | Imladris, Second Age, War of the Elves and Sauron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-18 10:12:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16116275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/pseuds/bunn
Summary: How Celebrimbor brought the Elven-rings to Gil-galad, and how Elrond led the Host of Lindon in the War of the Elves and Sauron. An account of how Rivendell was founded.Covers the period of Celebrimbor's death, but this story follows Elrond, not Celebrimbor.  Angst but no graphic torture.





	1. Stormclouds on the horizon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andúniel (Anduniela)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anduniela/gifts).



> The history of the Second Age is not entirely internally consistent in canon. For this story I have used content from The Silmarillion, The Unfinished Tales (“The History of Galadriel and Celeborn”), and The Lord of the Rings, Appendix B, The Tale of Years: The Second Age. A detailed timeline assembled from these sources is available in the endnote. Thanks to pp for emergency last-minute beta reading.

The rain began as they rode down from the hills, grey cloud hiding the mountains ahead and veiling the land so that Elrond could see only the distant pale line of the Gulf of Lune. As they came into sight of Mithlond, the rain began beating down in earnest, soaking the horses and their riders, drumming on the green grass and sending thin muddy streams across the wide paved road that led to the city by the water. 

The gates were open, and they rode hurriedly through and into the welcoming horse-smelling straw-strewn dryness of the stables. Someone ducked out of a loose-box to take Elrond’s horse as he dismounted, and as he turned, Elrond saw with surprise that it was the King himself, wearing a blue tunic that was plain by his usual standard, and the only gem about him the polished blue mussel shell set with silver stars that he wore in his hair. 

“Welcome home!” Gil-galad said, and threw a bundle of cloth at Elrond.

Elrond caught it with one hand, and then brought it up in salute. “Thank you! I thought you’d be in the middle of court this afternoon.”

Gil-galad grinned. “Rained off. We were supposed to be discussing some issue about fishing rights, but the Falathrim saw the storm coming and stayed in Forlond.”

Elrond was surprised. “Since when do you judge Falathrim fishing disputes?”

Gil-galad laughed. “I strongly suspect Círdan of using me as the ettin that lurks in the hills, to keep his young people in line: stop stealing from one another’s lobster pots, or I’ll send you to the Noldor! I assume it’s someone who doesn’t remember me from the days when I used to go out with the fleet... If they haven’t thought better of their crimes, I shall thunder at them ferociously when the weather clears up. Anyway, I decided to wander over here to spend a little while brushing Gwedal’s mane and offering her slices of apple instead. Until the storm decided to enter my stables in the person of a sodden Herald and his soaking friends on steaming-wet horses, anyway.” 

Elrond wiped raindrops from his face with the cloth, then turned to start rubbing his horse down with it. His horse snorted delightedly and nibbled affectionately at his shoulder. 

“I do have grooms to do that,” Gil-galad pointed out. 

“Well, yes, but if I was rushing off anywhere, it would be to report to you. Conveniently enough, you’re here, so I can make sure Híthion is comfortable myself, and report at the same time!” Elrond called across the stable “Idhron, Mallendis, Erestor, no need to wait for me. Go and get dry and find something to eat, I’ll see you later.” 

“If you must rub him down personally, I suppose I might as well give you a hand,” Gil-galad said, and turned to pick up a second cloth. “So, what news of our rebellious cousin Celebrimbor?” 

“Rebellious is putting it a bit strongly, surely? He’s never actually defied a direct order, has he?” The horse, Híthion, nudged his elbow, and he began automatically to rub at its neck.

“Only because I have the sense not to give him direct orders, I strongly suspect,” Gil-galad said, frowning as he rubbed at Híthion’s wet side.

Elrond turned to him, one hand on Híthion’s back. “I don’t think he would defy you if you made a point of it, even now. He’s never made the High Kingship an issue, after all.”

“He threw Galadriel out of Eregion and took possession of it for himself,” Gil-galad pointed out, his dark stern brows drawn down. 

“Celebrimbor doesn’t think of it quite like that. He says they had a few disagreements about this and that, and that after Galadriel had her daughter, she decided to spend some time beyond the mountains among the Nandor. There are far more people who owe allegiance to the House of Fëanor in Eregion than those who count Galadriel or Celeborn their leaders, after all.” 

They both knew that, of course. Many of the Elves of Nargothrond and Dorthonion, the adherents of the House of Finarfin, had gone away back into the West long ago. But the people of Celebrimbor’s House, those who had lived in the Eastmarch of Beleriand, had been those most eager to leave Aman, and many of them were kinslayers. Few of those who had survived had chosen to return.

“That’s not quite how Galadriel sees it,” Gil-galad said, running a hand up the horse’s neck to scratch his crest. “The letter she sent me made some very...pointed remarks. She went as far as to say that Celebrimbor resembled his father far more than she had once thought, and she felt herself a second Finrod, exiled from the land she built when her people turned to the House of Fëanor. If you are right that Celebrimbor still considers me his king, then I should have ordered him then to stand aside. But Galadriel felt that would force an open breach. I think she was right. Eregion is supposed to send me a gift-tribute. A golden cup, every three and thirty years. It has not been paid once since Galadriel left Eregion. And for the leader of the House of Fëanor, of all people, to break that tradition...”

“Oh well,” Elrond said and smiled sideways at his king. “If you’re short of golden cups, you should have mentioned it. I’d have brought you one.”

Gil-galad straightened up and his dark brows frowned alarmingly. “Don’t play the innocent, Elrond. You know the point is not the cup. It is a symbol that the Noldor are united under one king in Middle-earth. The High King in the West suggested the tradition before he sailed away, and everyone agreed. You included, I seem to recall. ”

“Of course,” Elrond said, undaunted, met the king’s eyes . “I’d still have brought you a golden cup on Celebrimbor’s behalf, if you’d only mentioned it. Celebrimbor is my cousin, can I not assist him with matters of administration? I’m sure he didn’t intend to neglect his obligations to our king.” 

Gil-galad shook his head and laughed with some reluctance. “You can’t just do it for him, Elrond. That’s not supposed to be how it works.” 

Elrond smiled. “Celebrimbor has had a lot to put up with. People haven’t made it easy for him, even though he he disavowed his father’s deeds and was barely more than a child at Alqualondë. Now he has his own land and lordship at last, he’s proud of what he’s achieved there. He doesn’t care to be reminded that his house is called the Dispossessed, and after all, he’s a lot older than you and his grandfather was High King. He prefers to forget the war and focus his attention on his art. You can’t blame him for that, can you?” 

“I wasn’t planning to blame him,” Gil-galad said. “I know well enough that if I did, you’d find some excuse for him! But I don’t like his taste in friends, nowadays. Nor do you, be honest.” 

Elrond made an unhappy face. “No. But I do have some news about that. Our dubious acquaintance has left Eregion and vanished.” 

“You’re serious? Annatar has left Eregion?” 

“Not a sign of him anywhere. I did ask around; quietly of course. Not a word of him. Celebrimbor told me he left about five years ago and hasn’t been heard from since. And I would swear he wasn’t lying to me. Not knowingly, anyway.” 

Gil-galad grimaced. “I wish I could work out just when Celebrimbor became someone whose word we couldn’t quite trust. But perhaps, if Annatar has gone, things will get better again.”

Elrond knelt to wipe mud from the horse’s forelegs, and did not reply. 

Gil-galad regarded him thoughtfully. “But you don’t think so?” 

Elrond looked up at him over his shoulder and shrugged unhappily. “I had a feeling like thunder brewing, all the time I was in Ost-in-Edhil this time. I still do. The road ahead lies in shadow.” 

“Hmmm.” One of the grooms came over with a bucket of oats, and Gil-galad took it from him. “I am still convinced that the power rising in the East that sent Men raiding in Enedwaith is a servant of Morgoth. And we don’t know where Annatar has gone, or what he’s doing.”

“Foresight isn’t always right...” Híthion stamped. “You can have the oats in a moment, greedy! Just let me wipe the last foot... there you go.” 

“You see further ahead than most do, Elrond : I’d be a fool to ignore it. I’ll send ships down the coast to gather news, and messengers to speak with Galadriel in Lindórinand, too.”

“I spoke to Celeborn while I was in Eregion,” Elrond said getting up. “He is still there, in the hills, since he refuses to pass through Khazâd-Dum and go east as Galadriel did. He knows no more about Annatar’s whereabouts than we do. Not that Annatar would tell Celeborn, of all people. Celeborn has made no secret that he distrusts Annatar as much as he does the Dwarves. I wish he had found it in his heart to be a little less open about it. Neither opinion has endeared him to Celebrimbor.” 

Gil-galad said gloomily, “I wish Galadriel had been able to stay in Eregion. Both of them might have listened to her.” Then he straightened decisively, full of purpose again. “Still, Annatar is no longer whispering in Celebrimbor’s ear. We’ll wait and see what the storm brings with it.”

“And in the meanwhile, live in hope,” Elrond said and smiled. Híthion was gobbling oats hungrily from the bucket.

“Always. And make a contingency plan, just in case.” He wrinkled his nose at Elrond and then punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on. You have yet again succeeded in causing me to be splashed with mud and stinking of wet horse! I’m going to the bath-house. Since your horse is now dry, clean and well-fed, and you are still soaking wet and smell worse than I do, you can leave him to his oats and come too.” 

“You didn’t have to help!” Elrond protested, laughing. “Though Híthion and I both owe you our thanks. But I haven’t made any report of what Celebrimbor has been up to yet. Ost-in-Edhil is buzzing with talk of Rings of Power.” 

Gil-galad looked mournfully down at the mud on his sleeves. “You can tell me all about them on the way to the bath-house,” he said firmly.


	2. One for the Dark Lord on His Dark Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Barad Dur is raised, the years of peace run past, and war is brewing.

But despite their shared concerns, the years ran by, swift bright springs that broadened into summers where the Gulf of Lune shone blue and gold in the sun, autumns as golden and full of silver mist as ever they had been, and winters full of sea-wind, rainbows and sudden sharp storms that came hurling in from the open sea, heralded by the crying of the gulls.

When Elrond looked ahead, a shadow lay dark and menacing across Middle-earth, but when he rode out beside the King to attend the festivals in Forlond or Harlond, or to hunt in the hills and woods east of the Blue Mountains, the sun shone fair and the wind and rain were clean.

Upon the land of Lindon no shadow lay.

News came back from the distant South. The mountain-enclosed land of Mordor not far from the Great River, uncomfortably close to the Elven haven of Edhellond and the little Mannish settlement of Pelargir, had been taken long ago by some servant of the Enemy. Now, a great tower had been reared there, the messengers said. Traders from the rich green cornlands around the Sea of Nurnen had been decreasing in number for some time, and now they no longer came south of the Mountains to Lebennin and the Elvish settlement of Edhellond at all. Some of the Men of Lake Nurnen had fled south to the protection of Numenorean Umbar; the rest were now slaves.

Gil-galad sent Elrond himself by ship to the thriving Numenorean port of Lond Daer. He had many friends there. Elrond still kept up the tradition of meeting with his brother’s many-times-great-grandchildren when he could, though there were now so many of them that it was safest to assume that any Man of Númenor was probably some sort of distant nephew, rather than only a cousin through the Three Houses of the Edain.

He remembered the town when Aldarion had first founded it a thousand years ago. It had been a huddle of quays along the edge of the River Gwathló; low wooden buildings and a rough stockade against the endless green miles of misty forest.

Now the land for miles around was clear and dry, the trees felled to produce timber for ships, buildings and firewood for Numenor. Instead there was open grassland over which Numenorean cattle grazed in great herds, and heather-clad moorland over which larks soared singing. The heather was beautiful in the summer sun, but Elrond was a little startled to see how far the forests had now been cut back.

There had been shadowed places in the woods when last he had passed that way, where memories of darkness lay heavy and the thoughts of trees ran bitter. But there had also been bright glades and woodland streams where bluebells flowered in the spring, goldcrests flitted among the green trunks, and nightingales, now all lost.

Still, as one of his many-times distant nephews pointed out to him, it was undeniably much easier to see that there was no enemy approaching across clear grassland. That was, after all why Lond Daer had been founded: to guard the wide silver River Gwathló, busy with Elven-boats and Numenorean ships, that formed the southern frontier of the lands of the Elves.

He stayed in Lond Daer for some time, gathering news from this and that distant nephew or niece, but there was nothing new to be heard. For a long time there had been incursions into Enedwaith from the East, and the Men of Enedwaith who long ago had chosen not to travel to Númenor had forgotten their ancient kin, and were now often suspicious and unfriendly.

Elrond set sail again, further south to Edhellond. The Elves there were mostly survivors of Doriath and their children, and were suspicious of the Noldor. That was why they had moved so far South. But Elrond, Elwing’s son, was welcome among them, and they gave him news willingly.

With many warnings, they helped him and a few friends cross the White Mountains into the wide and empty lands beyond. He met there with travelling hunters who were unwilling to say much, but when persuaded with gifts and fair speech, talked darkly of a mountain that slept unquietly, and strange creatures that prowled the hills in darkness. But nothing more than that: no armies, no Balrogs or dragons or spirits of the unquiet dead.

In the end he returned to Gil-galad in Mithlond to report, frustrated, that he could see little evidence of servants of the Enemy. But he still had a feeling as if thunder were brewing, just over the horizon.

## 1693 : The One and the Three

In Lindon the stars shone and the waves played endlessly against the shore for a little while, a handful of seasons, a few lives of Men. From Númenor the great trading-ships came in from time to time, carrying news and relatives and trade goods from distant lands.

From Eregion came only the usual traders bringing news and carts that arrived filled with jewels, goldwork, fine cloth, metal and leather to meet the ships, and left again carrying pearls, oystershell, dried fish and sheepswool from Lindon, and rarer things from Númenor and even further West.

The end of a fine spring day, and Elrond was returning to his quarters next to the Hall of Swallow’s Flight, when a trader wearing a long hooded cloak woven in one of the dark green and white houndstooth styles popular in Eregion caught his arm as he approached the stone-carved doorway. His voice was offering Elrond something, a glittering belt-buckle in his hand. But something about him was familiar. His mind was closed tight with nothing recognisable about it, but then...

_Elrond. I need to talk to the King. Secretly, and quickly!_

Celebrimbor. Elrond had heard nothing to suggest he was in Lindon at all.

“I don’t really need another buckle,” Elrond said casually, pausing. He took the shining buckle in his hand and turned it. “This is very well-made, though. I have a kinsman who would like it. I might get it as a gift for him. Why don’t you come in?”

He hurried up the stone steps to Erestor’s rooms, not far from his own, with Celebrimbor silent on his heels, his hood still pulled forward around his face. Erestor was not there. Elrond ushered Celebrimbor in, closed the door and set a word of silence on it before he spoke.

“Celebrimbor! It’s good to see you! But why..?”

“I’ve made a grave mistake,” Celebrimbor said pushing his hood back now they were in private. He looked strained and his eyes were wary. “I know Gil-galad might not want to see me in private, but I really do need to talk to him, and the fewer people who know I’m here the better. Can you get me to him?”

Elrond looked at his serious face and considered. He remembered the faint sense of something wrong that he had always felt about Celebrimbor’s friend Annatar, the feeling of unease that he could not pin down.

He thought of the way that Celebrimbor had changed, after Annatar went to live in Eregion. He had been less and less interested in spending time with his other friends, Elves or Dwarves or Elrond himself, and fired with a great passion for his work, to the point where he seemed almost unable to talk of anything else for long. The way he spoke occasionally of Fëanor, no longer as if talking of a beloved grandfather slain, but as a rival to his own reputation. He was still Elrond’s friend, of course, but not in quite the uncomplicated way he had been. There was no obvious sign of danger on the surface of his mind, but the shadow and the sense of thunder brewing was dark and oppressive about him.

On the other hand, this was Celebrimbor, his cousin, by whose side he had fought many times. He had always known that the House of Fëanor was not entirely to be trusted. Everyone had told him that, particularly members of the House of Fëanor. Despite that, he was very fond of them. And Celebrimbor was the best of them.

“You’re armed,” he said, noncommittal, glancing at Celebrimbor’s belt.

Celebrimbor undid his sword-belt, dropped it on the floor and dropped his dagger on top of it. “Now I’m not. You can stay and guard him if you want: I just don’t want to talk about this in open court, and I don’t want word to get out that I was in Lindon at all. It’s in everyone’s interest that this is kept quiet, Elrond. I assure you I mean him no harm.”

Elrond made up his mind, and nodded. “Very well. These are Erestor’s rooms, and he’s taken ship to visit Númenor. He won’t be back before the new moon at earliest, so we won’t be interrupted. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go and fetch the king.”

******

Elrond found Gil-galad in his private library, frowning fiercely at a pile of papers and a fat leather-bound book, in the company of a couple of his usual secretaries. He had no particular reason not to trust them, but Celebrimbor had made the need for secrecy clear and so he managed to request a private interview in an embarrassed manner that he hoped suggested some personal problem rather than anything more consequential.

“Well?” Gil-galad said, looking much amused, once the attendants had gone away and the door was closed behind them. “Why the shuffling feet and most uncharacteristically shy expression? You aren’t planning to tell me you’re getting married, are you? I thought the young hopefuls of Lindon had all given up on you long ago!”

Elrond laughed. “Not me!” he said. “Can you imagine me getting married, after all these years? Not to mention the whole complicated problem of children, for someone who is not quite Elf or Man... I intend to stick to having more nephews of various degrees than I can count; that’s more than enough family for anyone. No, I have some urgent news, that I think you will not want talked about. I have a token to convince you, if you need one.”

He pulled out the bag he had hung over his shoulder, underneath his cloak, and took out a small but heavy golden cup, inlaid with the star of Fëanor.

 

*****

Celebrimbor was sitting near the window, but he came to his feet as they entered, looking tense.

Gil-galad looked at him appraisingly as Elrond carefully secured the door.

“So. What brings you here, Celebrimbor?” His voice was rather colder than Elrond would have liked, but at least he had come immediately and alone.

“You were right about Annatar,” Celebrimbor said. His head was up proudly, but his eyes were anguished. “Both of you. And Galadriel, too. You were right, and I was wrong, and now I fear we’re all going to have to suffer for it.”

“You only hoped...” Elrond said unhappily, but the king interrupted him.

“No point dissecting the whys and wherefores now. What are we facing?”

“You know that Sauron, who long ago slew Finrod, has returned, that he has set up his Dark Tower in the South, in the land called Mordor?”

“Yes,” Gil-galad said sharply. “I could hardly miss that. But that has been known for over ninety years, and so far he has done nothing but roost in his mountains like some foul bat. What is so urgent about it now?”

“Sauron has declared war on Eregion,” Celebrimbor said. “He sent me a messenger. We have not been attacked yet, but we will be.”

Celebrimbor drew his brows together sternly. “We have heard nothing. Why has Sauron declared war on you in particular, Celebrimbor?

“Because my friend Annatar was Sauron, disguised, and now he demands what he calls the fruit of his labours,”Celebrimbor said bitterly. “I suspected that he had fallen into the service of the Enemy at some point, but after all, Beleriand was a dark place, and the Enemy forced many unwilling thralls to serve him, and those with the greatest skill most of all. I hoped that.. he had chosen to follow a different path, now that he was free.. But now I know for sure that he was Morgoth’s lieutenant, and came among us only to use us as his tools. He still serves his dark master and is working to our undoing.”

“Gorthaur the Cruel,” Gil-galad said,with a grimace.

“Finrod was my friend. If I had suspected exactly who he was...” Celebrimbor said wearily. He paused for a moment, one knuckle pressed to his mouth. Then he carefully put his hand by his side, a controlled and measured movement. “But it’s too late now, except to give warning. You know that we had been working on Rings of Power?”

“I heard that you had begun making Rings,” Gil-galad said frowning. “A good few years ago, Elrond brought word back with him from Eregion. You sent me no direct word.”

“At the time, I was convinced that it was not a matter that needed to concern the High King,” Celebrimbor said. “We were working closely with...him, and he... never mind. They are designed to enhance the natural abilities of the wearer in many ways. Some in ways I now think were unwise... They vary in potency and in function, and he had a hand in making almost all of them, so I cannot say what he may have done to them. His skill is great. But there came a time when he must reveal himself. He would have us his slaves, not his friends, and so he moved from persuading to commanding us. Far away in the great fires within a distant mountain, he made a Ring for himself. One Ring to rule all the rest.”

“How do you know, if he was far away?” Elrond asked, watching Celebrimbor’s eyes warily with a hand unobtrusively on his sword hilt. He feared again that Celebrimbor’s mind might not be entirely his own any more.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath. “Everyone who had a Ring heard him say the words to set the spell. They were all too clear.

_Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,_   
_Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,_   
_Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,_   
_One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne,_   
_In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie._

_One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,_   
_One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them_   
_In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.”_

Gil-galad shuddered, and Elrond felt his breath harsh in his throat as the strength of the darkness cut against the defenses of their minds. Celebrimbor took a deep struggling breath as if the words had hurt him too, and fell silent. But there was no darkness that Elrond could see lying upon his mind.

“Three, Seven, Nine and One,” Gil-galad said and sighed. “And that is what you made? These rings that are bound now to the One Ring, and will trap us all in darkness in the Land of Shadows?”

Celebrimbor shook his head helplessly. “Not exactly. We made no rings for mortal Men, and only one for the Dwarves, a gift for Durin of Khazâd-Dum. The rest of the Seven are held by Elves of my people, and the same for the set of Nine. But now we know what he plans for them: he hopes to use them to chain all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth to his will. They have been hidden, and will not be worn again. All the wearers of the Rings took them off as soon as they heard those words. The messenger demanded that we surrender them. But we can’t do that. He will use them to bring ruin and torment, to subdue Middle-earth to his will : how can we give them up to be used for that?”

“And the Three?” Gil-galad asked sternly. “The Three for the Elven-kings? Which Elven-kings are these, Celebrimbor?”

Celebrimbor sighed. “The Three I made myself, after he had left Eregion. He has never touched them, and had no hand in them, and yet the spell has caught them too. I had... begun to suspect that he might not be the friend we had believed him to be, by then, but I still hoped. They are not weapons, they were not made for domination or for gathering gold. They are designed to aid in making and healing, to preserve all things unstained, and yet I fear that our enemy may use them to terrible effect. I have brought two of them to you.”

He opened the pouch on his belt, took out a roll of fine-woven linen, and unrolled it on the table near the window. Inside were two golden rings, each set with a single gem.

“These are my Silmarils, Gil-galad. The one great work of my heart that I shall not make again. I am giving them to you, absolutely, to do with as you see fit. ” Celebrimbor said, leaning forward earnestly. Elrond stared at him in shock. “You cannot use them as I had hoped now, to preserve peace and plenty, to heal the land and people and preserve the light from fading. But they are yours if you will have them, to keep safe.”

Gil-galad looked down at the two small shining rings, one set with a stone as red as fire, and the other with a sapphire as blue as the sea on a clear summer’s day, with a light dancing deep and cool within it. “Two of them,” he said. “But you say that you made three.”

“I’ve taken one of the Three to Galadriel in Lindórinand already,” Celebrimbor said. “I made it for her.”

Gil-galad’s dark eyebrows went up. “And what did she say to that?”

Celebrimbor gave him a painful smile. “She was gracious, as always. I always intended the Blue Ring, Vilya, for you, Gil-galad. It is the most potent of the Three. But now... I cannot keep the Ring of Fire for myself, as I planned. It must be hidden far from Eregion. And so I entrust both Rings to you and I beg you to keep them safe, unused and hidden.”

“And what will you do now, Celebrimbor?” Gil-galad said, without moving.

“I intend to go back to Eregion, and continue preparations for war,” Celebrimbor said, gravely resolute. “Galadriel sees war ahead. He who now names himself Dark Lord has declared that he will come for the Rings. Would you counsel me to do anything else?”

“Would you pay any attention if I did?” Gil-galad asked pointedly, but then caught the words back. “No, that was unfair. Very well, I will take these rings and guard them for you. I wish there was better counsel I could offer you. But I agree; all you can do now is return, build walls to protect your people, and hope. If war comes, we will aid you as best we can.”

Celebrimbor nodded unhappily. “Ost-in-Edhil was not designed as a fortress,” he said, and sighed. “It was built for peace. I had not thought it would ever need to stand siege, and I have been slower than I should have been to set the land in defense.” He shrugged. “Still, we shall do what we can with the time left to us. I’d better go. The longer I spend here, the more likely it will be that the Rings will be traced to Lindon.”

He looked over at Elrond, his usually solemn face looking more sad and worn than Elrond had ever seen it. “Farewell, Elrond, and my thanks,” he said.

Elrond stepped forward and gave him a swift, impulsive hug. “Farewell for now, and may the stars favour us all,” he said. He could feel the darkness ahead looming over Celebrimbor, cold and hungry, and yet he thought, with a sense of fierce defiance, Galadriel had said that foresight was not absolute. That sometimes, unless you turned aside to prevent a thing foreseen, it might never be.

He would not look ahead.

Celebrimbor embraced him warmly in return, with a sudden bright smile that had him looking suddenly more like the cousin that Elrond remembered from years past.

“Farewell,” Celebrimbor said seriously to Gil-galad.

“I wish you good fortune, cousin,” Gil-galad said gravely in return. “May the stars shine brightly for you.”

Celebrimbor nodded regally and turned to go, then thought better of it, and turned to face Gil-galad again, standing very straight and tall.

“May the stars shine bright, and may you walk under Eagle’s wings, my lord Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth,” he said, and met Gil-galad’s wide grey eyes with his own, which still glinted bright with the remembered light of the Trees of Valinor. He inclined his head very slightly, then pulled the hood forward to hide his face and slipped out of the door.

“Well!” Gil-galad said, turning to Elrond. “I suppose that was intended as a statement of a kind. I think he might have bent his stiff neck as much as an inch!”

“He brought you the work of his heart,” Elrond pointed out gently. “He has surrendered his Silmarils to you. He would have knelt, if it had occurred to him.”

“Hmm,” Gil-galad said, and looked down at the rings, and then at Elrond and gave one of his rare grins. “Do you think Fëanor’s grandson actually bends at the knees?”

Elrond managed to smile and went to one knee. “I can do that.”

Gil-galad snorted in amusement. “Oh, get up you fool,” he said.

Elrond stood up. “We’re making ready for war then?”

Gil-galad looked down at the two rings, and rolled up the linen case to tuck them in the inner pocket of his overtunic. “Yes. No point wasting time in vain regrets. War is now only a matter of time.”

“Ah well,” Elrond said and shrugged. “Back to war. We knew it was coming. It has been a pleasant break, at least. Seventeen hundred years. Not a bad run.”

“Has it been so long? I wasn’t counting. It seems all too short a time, now...” Gil-galad laid a hand on his breast where the hidden rings lay. “It comes to me that I should not keep these together in Mithlond. I intend to give Celebrimbor a few days start before we start arming and fortifying in earnest, though I’ll get the stewards working on supplies right away. But the first thing is to inform Círdan. I will ask him to keep one of these rings. On the shores of the Sea it will be as safe as it can be. So, do you fancy a trip to Forlond?”

“A last carefree visit before the long summer ends and the storm comes rolling in? Why not?”

“We could take Foamflower,” Gil-galad suggested. “I’ve had a few changes made to her keel since that trip we made up to the Hills of Evendim. She’s even faster now. She will fly down to Forlond in no time, with the new foresail as well.”

Elrond gave him a wary look. “If you turn her over again and lose both Celebrimbor’s rings at the bottom of the Gulf of Lune...”

“Pfft! That happened once, and it was at least five hundred years ago!”

“Three hundred and fifty seven,” Elrond said, a half-smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. “And it was very wet and cold, so I’m not planning to let you forget it in a hurry.”

“I shall sail as cautiously as a Numenorean dame in one of those elaborate hats with all the fruits that they like to wear,” Gil-galad promised. “Come on. We’ll talk to my stewards, and then go down to the boat-house. Seventeen hundred years, and now we have this one last day left to sail joyfully in sunlight. We might as well make the most of it.”


	3. War comes to Eriador

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond rides out to war, but Eregion falls, and so does its lord.

The Enemy was in no great hurry. It was two years after Celebrimbor’s hurried visit before the news came at last to Lindon that Sauron’s armies had come marching through the Gap of Calenardhon, and had crossed the Fords of Isen in great force.

“They are burning the forests of Enedwaith, all that is left of them,” the great Raven croaked, standing before Gil-galad in the Hall of Swallow’s Flight in Mithlond. The Raven had come flying, swift and enduring with the gathering storm behind him out of Ost-in-Edhil, where his people lived among the towers and the holly trees. “Many legions of orcs march under cover of the smoke, and great companies of Men out of the East are with them. Durin of Khazad-dûm charged me with this message. He reckons there are six orc-legions, each with at least five thousands.”

“Have you any news of Lond Daer?” Gil-galad asked, controlled and serious at the head of the table with his lords around him.

The Raven hunched its black wings and puffed up the feathers on its neck in an expressive shrug on the table before him. “I flew North and West, away from the smoke and the orc-arrows,” it croaked. “I do not know.”

“The Enemy declared war on Eregion,” Erestor said. “Surely he will have gone there directly, if he seeks these Rings, my lord?”

“That, we cannot be sure of, Erestor,” Gil-galad said a little sternly. “I would send aid to Eregion, but first we must know if the Enemy’s entire force has gone North across the River Glanduin into Eregion, or if he has sent a force west up the coast to Lond Daer, or inland to cross the river Gwathló at Tharbad. If there are enemies coming North across the River Baranduin to attack Lindon from the South, then I cannot ride with my whole strength to the aid of Eregion: we would find Lindon and the Havens burned behind us, and have no supply line or path of retreat. Our numbers are too few. We must know what we are facing and have a clear plan, for we cannot afford to waste anyone in a vain attack.”

“I would lead a force to the aid of Eregion with all haste, if you will permit it, my lord,” Elrond said. “The longer we delay...”

“I know,” the king said gently. “And I will give you your orders as soon as I can. But you know there is no point charging into battle without knowing what we are facing, Elrond.”

Elrond nodded wordlessly.

Gil-galad turned to Círdan. “How long to get a ship to Lond Daer and back? And how long to Tharbad?”

“Two days to Lond Daer, with a fair wind, and four back at this time of year when the winds are from the North-west. To go up the river to Tharbad though... that’s more risky, if there might be orcs on the banks. I would not ask anyone to risk it at night, so that means waiting for the tide... perhaps ten days, to be safe.”

“Two ships,” Gil-galad decided. “One to Lond Daer, and one to Tharbad. And another to Númenor with all speed, pleading for aid.”

“There’s a Numenorean cutter anchored off the Harlond,” Círdan said. “They will get there as swiftly as we could, and if we give them the job of carrying the news, it will spare us a few more hands to defend Harlond if it comes to it.”

“Tar-Telperiën may not take kindly to that,” Erestor pointed out. “She is proud and wilful.”

“She is the Ruling Queen of Númenor, Erestor,” Elrond said. “And Númenor is not over-used to the rule of Queens. She must show herself strong. But she isn’t a fool. She will know we are hard-pressed.”

Gil-galad nodded. “Very well. Keeping an extra ship and crew that we may need is worth the risk. I will write to the Queen, and Círdan, please ask the cutter to carry the letter.”

“I will write to her heir, Minastir, as well,” Elrond offered. “A private letter, kinsman to kinsman.”

“Worth a try,” Gil-galad agreed. “Write quickly. I want you to call up your companies and take them down to the Baranduin, to encamp at Sarn Ford, Elrond. There, you may hear news we need to guide us in our plans, and you will also be well placed to hold the ford if the Enemy has sent a force that way.”

Elrond nodded. “And to ride south to Eregion, as soon as we are ready.”

Gil-galad nodded. “I hope we shall be there to join you very soon.”

*****

Gil-galad came to speak privately to Elrond in his rooms. Elrond’s armour-bearer, a rather wide-eyed young elf far too young to remember war, was helping him on with his greaves at the time. Gil-galad sent the armour-bearer off to fetch a spare dagger that he had in mind to give to Elrond, and stood there for a moment, frowning at him sternly.

“What?” Elrond asked, looking down and checking the fit around his shoulders and elbows. “I haven’t worn it for some time, but it still fits. Not even a spot of rust.”

“Yes, it still fits,” Gil-galad said, and sat down on the bed.

“Shouldn’t you be doing approximately six thousand kingly duties?” Elrond asked and sat down next to him with a faint jingling sound.

“I’ve done them. All the important ones, anyway. Are you sure you want to lead this expedition?” Gil-galad demanded. “You are going to end up leading it, you must realise that. I am making a show of public support for Eregion for the sake of morale, but I can’t strip Lindon of every last one of its troops and carry the Rings that the Enemy is seeking right into his jaws. If it’s a choice between saving Eregion and saving Lindon, I have to choose Lindon. I fear our numbers may be too few to save both.”

“Ah. I thought so.” Elrond said. “Yes, my lord, I will lead out whatever forces you can spare me to the aid of Eregion.”

“I am not ordering you to do it. But you would choose this, for Celebrimbor and his kinslayers.”

Elrond shrugged. “For Celebrimbor, for the people of Eregion, many of whom are my friends, and for Lindon, too. For the Dwarves of Khazâd Dum, who have been our loyal allies, and for my kinsman Celeborn and those of the Doriathrim who are with him in Eregion. For Lond Daer and Tharbad, where I have kinsmen among the Edain. I have a lot of reasons to want to go to Eregion.”

“Be careful,” Gil-galad said sternly. “There’s only one of you.”

Elrond narrowed his eyes. “It feels strange,” he admitted. “Being the commander, not Elros’s second-in-command. It has been a long time since Elros died, but... this drives it home. I shall be careful.”

“There are those who would say that Eregion was always doomed. That it lies under the Doom of Mandos, because its leader is of the House of Fëanor and the wrath of the Valar lies on him still.”

“Oh, I see. Now we come to the heart of it,” Elrond said. He got up unhappily and stood in front of Gil-galad. “The House of Fëanor. You cannot save them and you cannot trust them and you must not follow them, for the wrath of the Valar lies upon them, from the West to the uttermost East. I learned that as a child, and the lesson was reinforced sharply later. Believe me, I am in no danger of forgetting it. But you can still love them. You can still ride out to strike a blow against the darkness, and know that they are doing it too.”

“Celebrimbor is not the only member of your family,” Gil-galad said, and a stranger might have thought he said it coldly.

Elrond was not a stranger. He went and put an armoured arm around the king’s stiff shoulder.

“Don’t worry about me. I see a long path that lies ahead of me, and though it may one day end in darkness, I’m almost certain that it won’t be for a very long time. We endured the darkness before. We can do it again.”

“Foresight isn’t always right,” Gil-galad said quietly. “Celebrimbor may be your cousin, but I count you as a brother. I wanted to say that, before you go.”

“And I you,” Elrond said. He squeezed the king’s shoulder. “Always. You be careful, too.”

“I will,” Gil-galad said and got up, as Elrond’s armour bearer came dashing back with a long curved dagger that, Elrond knew, was one of the few treasures that had been carried away and saved from lost and ruined Nargothrond.

 

*****

  
Elrond led out his companies to Sarn Ford, the great southward crossing of the river Baranduin, where the wide golden-brown waters of the river widened and shallowed to pass over cunning dwarf-laid stone and shale so that the road out of the South and East could pass over, heading for Mithlond and the old dwarf-settlements of the Ered Luin. It was the road that led to Tharbad, and on to Eregion and Khazâd Dum, as well as to the Gap of Calenardhon. South to the Anduin, and beyond it, the stronghold of their new Enemy.

The western sun was glinting on the river when they came up to it that summer evening, and a warm wind sighed in the grasses. This had been a woodland river when first Elrond had ridden this way, dappled with leaf-shadow, moving cool and mysterious under great oaks and willows. The Numenoreans had felled many of the woods on the western side of the road, even up to the southern river-bank. Now the river was edged only by sighing reeds, and wound through open meadowlands, stitched with many golden buttercups.  
But there was a smell of smoke upon the air, and in the south-east, a darkness smudged the horizon as Elrond’s companies set up their camp and took their evening-meal at last as the sky darkened overhead, and one by one, stars came out, reflected in the river-pools.

Word came to them from Tharbad before Círdan’s ship could reach the city, carried by refugees. Tharbad had fallen to the orcs. The bridges across the Gwathló had been taken before they could be broken, and the enemy had come flooding north into Minhiriath, with those who had survived from Tharbad fleeing before them.

But it seemed the orc-armies were in no great hurry. They had stayed to ruin the town and burn the forests of Minhiriath, while the townsfolk of Tharbad fled to Sarn Ford. Elrond sent the old people and the families with children north into the hills. Those who were willing and able to fight, he armed and set to watching the line of the river for armies coming out of the South.

Lindon was rich in arms and armour, for Gil-galad had been prepared for war for long years, and there were swords and mail in plenty left behind by the departing hosts of Valinor. Lindon was only short of people to carry the swords and wear the armour.

News came back from Círdan that Lond Daer, further west than Tharbad near the coast, and built as a stronghold, not just a trading post, still stood, but it was under siege.

A Raven came from Khazâd Dum to Gil-galad with a message. The Dwarves had forced back an enemy attack across the Glanduin, and Celebrimbor had raised the river and thrown the bridges down.

“That’s not going to make it any easier to relieve the siege, is it?” Erestor pointed out, somewhat unhelpfully, when he discovered the news in a despatch from the King.

“It will hinder the enemy more than it hinders us,” Elrond told him, making an effort not to sound annoyed. Erestor was good-hearted, but he had an unfortunate tendency to say the first thing that came into his head. “The enemy has very little cavalry. Our horses can swim the river if they have to.”

Erestor made a face, but nodded.

******

  
Gil-galad moved his remaining forces into position: supplies and arms were in place, and all the allies that they had or would have, apart from Númenor. If Númenorean aid were coming, then it would not be for some time.

All at once, the seemingly interminable waiting in the peaceful green and golden meadows beside the Baranduin was over.

The message came from Gil-galad: permission granted to ride to the aid of Eregion.

And Elrond led his companies, their armour shining and the Star and Snowdrop on their banners fair as a faint and fading memory of the hosts of Valinor before Thangorodrim, across dew-starred turf down across Sarn Ford. East towards the smoke that blew black across the sunrise.

 

*******

They never reached Eregion, although they tried.

They fought their way through burning Minhiriath, to find the west-bank of the river Gwathló already held by a great army of men and orcs. The eyes of the orcs shone with red flames and they fought like demons, enduring great wounds without a sound. Elrond could feel the dark will behind them, strong and bitter, and it was all that he could do to hold his own people to his purpose.

Elrond’s force killed more than they lost, but it was not a victory. They were thrown back into the blackened wasteland that had once been part of the forest that had stretched from the Great River almost to the Sea. Smoke filled the skies and choked harshly at the back of Elrond’s throat as they encamped for another dark night, and was still there as they woke .

He turned south, and led them towards the marshes of the Nîn-in-Eilph, hoping to reach the ford across the Glanduin, but they were attacked again as they came down towards the water: a regiment of wolf-riders with bats whirling above them in the sooty air, and behind them in the fading light, the great forms of trolls with clubs striding through the long grass and rushes, leaving the ground torn up into impassable mud wherever they passed.

Reluctantly, Elrond made the decision to pull back towards Sarn Ford.  There, they rested the horses, replenished supplies and sent those who were most wounded to safety for a few days. Then, south again, raiding along the western flank of the army that invested Eregion, striking hard and then retreating, again, again, again.

This was not Elrond’s first war. But it was the first time he had led an army into battle after indecisive battle, against an enemy so much greater in numbers, an enemy led by a will of steel whose thought was both a wall and a whip.

Messages came back from Númenor, hopeful messages from Minastir, doubtful ones from Tar-Telperiën the Queen. Númenor was not yet prepared for war. Númenor would consider the matter.

“We must hope they consider swiftly,” Gil-galad’s message said, and Elrond washed and ate at the supply camp and made ready to ride out again.

Winter came, and still there was no news from Númenor, and no way to pass the legions encamped around Eregion. Erestor had taken a serious wound where an orc-blade had caught a gap in his armour, too deep to easily heal in the field. Elrond sent him back to Lindon with the other, increasingly numerous wounded, despite Erestor's protests.

He received from Gil-galad, in return, a company of serious, worried-looking young Noldor. They were children of the years of peace. This was their first experience of battle. Elrond looked at their determined faces, and wondered if he had ever been so young.

With them, to his relief, were two improbably cheerful crews of Falmari from Forlond, worth far more than their numbers, for all of them were veterans of the War of Wrath, and a company of grim-faced Men from Lond Daer marching on foot, led by yet another distant nephew, Beregar of Eryn Vorn, a grizzled, crooked-faced man who rarely smiled.

Lond Daer had fallen to a new army of Sauron’s men out of the South. The survivors had fled north to Lindon.

## Berengar

Beregar was stern, silent and proud at first, with little to say to the Elves that was not concerned with the immediate necessities of war. But as a second spring wore on into summer, when they had carried out yet another attack less effective than they had hoped, he began to be more willing to talk.

With a little prompting, he told Elrond about the wooded coastlands outside Lond Daer where his family had lived since his great-grandfather had come from Númenor. “But my grandmother was of the Middle People, who love the woods,” he said “And so we have preserved the old ways and kept the forests, instead of felling them as they mostly do nowadays. I hope our trees will have escaped the orcs. It would be a sad thing if we managed to fling the enemy back and find nothing but blackened stumps were left.”

“The ruin of the woodlands is a hard thing to see,” Elrond agreed. “I hope Eryn Vorn has escaped the Enemy and your woods by the sea will thrive for ages to come.”

Berengar looked sideways at him for a moment through slitted eyes. “I don’t think there are enough of us to hold the coasts. Let alone to free Eregion.”

“When Númenor comes to aid us...”

“If Númenor comes.” Berengar said and made a sour face. “Númenor is concerned with Middle-earth for food and timber, but there are other shores they can sail to south of ours, far from the Enemy. I wish I was sure that they would come, but I’m not.”

“They will come,” Elrond said firmly. “But we must hold on until they do, and it may take some time.”

“Time. Here we are, Elves and Men, perhaps none of us with more days left than the rest. I wonder how many of us will be left by the time that Númenor comes, if it does. Can you not summon aid from Valinor? The Valar came to your aid once, when your father called them, the old tales say.”

Elrond shook his head. “When the Great Enemy fell the Valar summoned all the Elves of Middle-earth to depart into the West. Some of us chose to linger, but they will not send another army to our aid. When first we heard that a new Shadow had arisen, we were fortunate that Tar-Aldarion was willing to bring us aid from Númenor.”

“And so Men are abandoned, those of us like my grandmother’s people who never sailed to Númenor... and the rest of us too, since we have outgrown the safety of the isle. Do we not matter to the Valar?”

“Who can say?” Elrond answered lightly. “I am no more one of them than you are: I too was born in Middle-earth. But to me it seems that the Valar have not abandoned us, but given us space to take our own path. Those of us still here upon the Hither Shore are not over-eager to sail west. That is why we begged my nephew Tar-Aldarion for his aid.”

“And so Lond Daer was established, and my people settled again in Middle-earth,” Berengar said. He looked around thoughtfully at the tree-stumps, and the smoke-clouds along the line of the river Gwathló, and his mouth crooked wryly. “Perhaps not the wisest choice.”

“Middle-earth is fair, and if you had not come, your grandmother’s people would be facing the Enemy alone,” Elrond pointed out.

“If the Enemy could find them, in their forests...” Berengar said. “There are many among the middle-men, my grandmother’s people, who wish that Númenor had not returned. They say we stole their land and felled their trees, and so we did, although at the time it did not seem like that.”

“Middle-men? Your grandmother’s people are descended in part from the Haladin, my father’s kin,” Elrond told him. “Have they have forgotten that kinship? Has Númenor?”

Berengar shrugged. “That was a very long time ago. Now the middle-men have begun to fear the men of Númenor, and we have begun to look down on them, and now here is the Enemy come into the middle of it all. It may be that we will never mend things between us now.”

“Not an easy thing, to be born between two peoples,” Elrond said.

“No.” Beregar regarded him for a moment and then asked, “It was your father who slew the great dragon, so I have heard tell. Can you not call on him for aid?”

“A bold question,” Elrond said, somewhat startled. “My father is forbidden ever to return to Middle-earth. And I fear even the Evening Star might not be enough to defeat the enemy that confronts us now. When my father slew the Dragon and Thangorodrim broke beneath his fall, it was the culmination of many years of hard campaigning on the ground. The armies of orcs we face are more difficult to defeat than a single dragon, even the greatest dragon ever seen.”

“A pity,” Berengar said and he looked thoughtfully at Elrond and let his crooked mouth pull sideways a little in a kind of smile. “Ah well. We’ll have to make do with his son, who is not doing too badly, as legends go. Time to eat and get some sleep before we attack again, I think.”

 

******

## The Sack of Eregion

It seemed that Elrond had at last exhausted the Enemy’s patience.

Sauron turned from Eregion in frustration, like a dog that turns from a bone to snap at a gadfly, and struck at Elrond’s host with all his power. His armies drove westwards like a hammer-blow, legions of black-armoured orcs striking suddenly west from their camps upon the Gwathló.

Scouts came galloping back to Elrond’s main force, which had taken shelter to rest in an oak-wood that still stood, protected by a rocky outcropping from the flames.  They brought word that the main force of the enemy was less than a day away, and approaching fast. The camp filled with frantic activity as they readied to move. The day was fading, and they had planned to spend the night here, but now it would be a night without sleep.

“I’m putting you in command of the main force and supplies,” Elrond said to Berengar, hastily pulling on the gauntlets that his armour-bearer handed to him.

“While you go where?” Berengar demanded. He was already in armour, one hand on his sword-hilt and looking warily south and east.

“I shall take a company of horse north-east,” Elrond told him. “We’ll travel light. Strike and run. With luck, they will think that’s all of us, while you, the foot, and the supplies head back towards the Baranduin. Get across and carry on North towards the hills. I’ll meet you there. We can move faster and take a longer route on horseback, and still stand a decent chance of losing them.”

“And if the Enemy finds us first?”

“Try not to let it come to a pitched battle, unless you have no choice. You don’t have the numbers. But if it does, I have this for you.” He pulled out a small leather bag and tipped the silver star out onto his hand.

“That looks like the one you’re wearing,” Berengar said, his eyes flicking to Elrond’s forehead. “I thought it only a gem...what is it for?”

“Celebrimbor made them, a long time ago. Wear it on your forehead, and your own people will know their leader and be encouraged, your own heart will be strengthened against the will of the Enemy, and your foes daunted.”

“If I take it, will I owe you anything?” Berengar asked, looking at it warily.

Elrond looked at him in some surprise. “No. A gift, given freely. I have two, as you see. The one I wear was made for me, and the other for my brother Elros. He left it with me when he went into the West. No shadows to ward off on the Isle of Gift, you see. Now I give it to you. You asked if I could call on my father for aid: well, you are his kin as much as I am. Call on him. The orcs at least fear his name. Even if he cannot answer, it makes a fine battle-cry.”

“This belonged to your brother? Shouldn’t it go to the Queen?”

“The Queen is not here. You are.”

Slowly, Berengar reached out, took the small silver thing. He gave Elrond a doubtful look and then bound it to his own forehead, where it brightened joyfully for a moment. He blinked in surprise.

“It recognises you,” Elrond said.

Berengar rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Hmm. Have you just given me a device that detects whether my foremothers were virtuous Numenorean ladies who slept only with their husbands?”

Elrond blinked at him, genuinely taken aback, and Berengar laughed harshly. “You’d never thought that Numenoreans might not be virtuous?”

“It had never occurred to me to think about it,” Elrond said, and laughed too. “And I honestly don’t know!”

Berengar gave him a crooked smile that was unexpectedly cheerful. “We march for the hills then, and try to avoid trouble until we meet again. Anything else?”

“Abandon the supplies if you have to: we can replace them more easily than you. Beyond that... well, use your own judgement. It’s brought you this far, kinsman.”

“Kinsman,” Berengar said and quirked his twisted mouth sideways. “Well, look at me, kin to the Evening Star and commander of an army of Elves.”

“I know,” Elrond said, and grinned at him. “A great nuisance, isn’t it, when you could be walking quietly in your woods by the Sea? You’ll just have to endure being a legend for a while.”

“I like the sound of being a legend,” Berengar said. “My Numenorean grandmother will be so impressed, if I ever get to tell her about it. The other one, not so much. But just at the moment, I’m more concerned with staying alive.”

Elrond mounted his horse. “And so am I. I wish you good fortune with it. I’ll see you in the hills, if we both succeed.”

 

*****

They ran east, hooves thundering across the open land where grass had come pricking through the ashes. Ahead, the enemy lines stretched north and south, banners red and black under a dark and stormy sky. Elrond picked a point where he could see a company of Men marching with black banners beside iron-armoured orcs, and gave the signal to his trumpeter.

The silver trumpet rang out, a clear note cutting through the noise of hooves and marching feet, and as one, Elrond’s company wheeled and charged.

As Elrond had hoped, Sauron’s men and orcs did not fight side by side with any great enthusiasm. Elrond’s company drove forward like a steel wedge into the Enemy battle line, throwing them into disarray. Elrond threw aside his broken lance and swept out his sword as the enemy began to rally, and turned to find that his trumpeter had just taken a spear to the ribs, and had fallen.

He wrenched his horse left, and called out in a great voice, “Eärendil! Eärendil!” and heard the cry picked up around him, as the star upon his brow burned bright against the darkness and the orcs fell back in fear. But the Men were not so easily cowed. A tall Man loomed out of the growing night and brought his sword down just as Elrond passed him, square onto Elrond’s left arm. The armour broke the force of the blow, but it was a heavy blade, and cut deep into the flesh near his elbow.

No time to worry about that yet.

“Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!” he called as his company broke away, and fled North into the night. Somewhere far above he could feel a wind stirring. Black clouds were breaking and tearing into long ragged strands against the night sky , and far away above the hills his father’s star blazed furiously against the night.

But behind them, wolves were howling.

## Celeborn

They ran north until the horses were lathered and panting, then dismounted for a brief rest, to count the wounded and the lost, and to bind their wounds. Elrond’s arm had a clean cut,and was quickly cleaned and dressed. It would heal well enough, given time. There were several more serious wounds among the company. Elrond said words over them and used what art he could spare to aid them, as far as that was possible in the time. Those few of his people who shared the art of healing did the same, though Elrond was painfully aware that there were not enough of them. There never had been enough, save for those few fleeting years when Thangorodrim had fallen, and they had dreamed of a world without war.

No time for dreams now. They moved on, walking beside the horses to allow them some respite, unsure whether the enemy was still behind them, but unable to take the risk of stopping. They had to stay far enough ahead that the Enemy would not realise he had lost their baggage and their infantry.

Several days later, a grey, misty morning , they ran into a party of warg-riding goblin scouts. By then, all of the company were grim-faced and tired. Mallendis mounted and moved out with a handful of horses to intercept the scouts before they could get away, but before she reached them, arrows rained down on the wolfriders from a great stone outcropping. Mallendis reined her horse in sharply in surprise, as tall figures holding bows appeared high on the tumbled grey rocks, among them one who was tallest of all, with his long silver hair caught back in a braid ready for battle.

“Celeborn!” Elrond exclaimed. “You are a welcome sight!”

Celeborn leaped down from the rocky ledge and came to Elrond’s side. “And so are you, though I must say you look a little the worse for wear at present. We’ve been looking for you since we found the rest of your force.”

“Berengar is here? I told him to go west,” Elrond said wearily.

“He went west, and ran into a strong company of Sauron’s Men heading North. He could not get through so he turned back, and met us.”

“How many people are with you? Is Celebrimbor here?” Elrond asked urgently.

Celeborn shook his head and made a disapproving face. “Celebrimbor is still in Ost-in-Edhil with his people, so far as I know. I have a little more than three thousand with me; our kinsmen who were of Doriath, and a few of the Laiquendi. We made a strike across the Gwathló, and the Enemy fell back, but he brought new strength against us from the east and cut us off. I knew you were here somewhere, so I came looking for you. Do you know where the Enemy has gone? We have seen nothing of him for several days.”

“Nothing recently,” Elrond told him. “We attacked his army three days ago, just within sight of the line of the Mitheithel. I thought he was behind us, but we have made no great speed — the horses are worn out — and yet we have seen no sign of him. My heart misgives me.”

“And so does mine,”Celeborn agreed grimly. “But I see you are wounded, and both your people and your horses look near spent. Wherever the Enemy is, and whatever he is doing, you will fight him all the better for a few hours rest. There’s a spring among those rocks and your supply wagons are beyond them. Come and wash and rest for a little.”

“A wash and a few hours rest. Celeborn, you have named my heart’s desire! But I have forty-four badly wounded, and Dornel has a stomach wound.”

“And you are wounded yourself. Let me look after them. Go and find your heart’s desire, Elrond, and we will take counsel after you have rested.”

 

*****

Elrond awoke to an oppressive sense of dread. His wounded arm ached under the fresh bandage. The canvas wagon cover flapped above his head in a cold wind, and there was no light outside.

He pulled himself up, stepped over the sleeping bodies of three of his riders sleeping wrapped in cloaks and blankets in the shelter of the wagon, and climbed down to the ground. The sky overhead was dark and starless, and in the east, a red glow ran along the horizon.

Celeborn appeared beside him silently, and pushed a mug of hot broth into his hand.

“Can you feel it?” Elrond said quietly. “There’s something...”

“Something in Eregion, yes,” Celeborn said. His face was grave and drawn in the faint firelight. “I fear the Enemy turned back and has crossed the river, and Ost-in-Edhil itself is now under siege.”

“The forces ranged against it are strong,” Elrond said. “Do you think the city can hold?”

Celeborn shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine what the Enemy will do. I think it will fall. Ost-in-Edhil was not built as a fortress, and Finrod’s slayer was mighty even before he made this new weapon, the golden thing to rule them all.”

Elrond shook his head in discomfort. The sense of an iron will pushing against his own that had troubled him intermittently for the last year was gone, but its absence was almost more troubling than its presence had been. “We should go east again with all haste,” he said, looking around at the sleeping camp.

“It’s several days march, even if we are not opposed,” Celeborn said, shaking his head. “You are exhausted, so are your people and your horses. Are you sure that setting out at once is the right thing to do?”

He was wearing that expression again that said, as clear as words, _this is Thingol’s heir even if he does not choose to call himself a king_. Elrond found it disconcerting. He took a swig of broth and avoided Celeborn’s eyes.

“It’s true we need rest. If I had fresh forces to send, I would send them. But you speak wisely. Better to arrive late but still with strength to fight.” He looked out towards the dim glow of Eregion. There was nothing new to be seen there, and yet his heart was heavy.

 

*****

But between them and Eregion, Sauron’s great army stood, investing the hastily-built fortifications of Celebrimbor’s land in such seething numbers that even with Celeborn’s numbers added to Elrond’s, it was very clear they could not hope to cut through.

Before long, they began to encounter Elves, Noldor from the smaller settlements of Eregion who had fled in ones and twos through the holly-glades and across the river, desperate. After a while the terrified refugees trickling through to Elrond’s command were coming from the city of Ost-in-Edhil itself.

The news they brought with them was bleak. Ost-in-Edhil had fallen, and Celebrimbor had been taken prisoner by the Enemy.

*****

Elrond had never been in the habit of touching minds with Celebrimbor. From time to time through the years they had spoken mind to mind, but in the war against Morgoth, you did not carelessly leave your mind open, and by the time the war was over, it was habit for both of them to keep the mind cautiously defended.

The thralls of Morgoth had been prevented from reaching with their minds outside the prison-walls of Angband. Morgoth, even at the end, had been able to set his power like a wall between husband and wife, between brother and brother, mother and daughter.

So Elrond was under no illusion that the feeling of Celebrimbor reaching out to him in agony now was his cousin’s choice. It was a device of their enemy, to spread grief and woe, to sap Elrond’s will.

Knowing that helped less than it should have done. He built the walls high around his mind, surrounded it with a wide moat of wide and turbulent waters, and concentrated on helping those close enough at hand to be helped.

But he still felt Celebrimbor’s death, as Sauron clearly intended.

He was standing with Celeborn, Berengar and Galdor, the captain of the Falathrim, on the banks of the River Bruinen, discussing yet again whether a swift strike southward could hope to bypass the force that lay between them and reach Ost-in-Edhil, and whether that would be the best use of their limited numbers, when the faint, nagging sense of tearing pain, anger, resistance and fear rose rose to a roar, with dark flame blazing around it in terrible fury.

Then, abruptly, it stopped, and Celebrimbor was gone beyond recall. Elrond gasped involuntarily, and Berengar stopped speaking mid-sentence and looked at him with an expression of alarm. Elrond took a deep breath.

“Celebrimbor is dead,” he said, and saying it made it real.

Celeborn bowed his head. The blue-eyed Falathrim captain shook his head and said with surprising gentleness. “At least it’s over. Did he...?”

“He is gone to the Halls of Mandos,” Elrond said, and saying that, he knew it to be true, even as the tears came to his eyes.

“A mercy then,” Galdor said kindly.

“Yes,” Elrond said with some difficulty. “And he did not go in defeat. The Enemy has not taken the treasure that he seeks. But that means he will look for it elsewhere. He is coming. We must be ready.”

******

They had set up their camp in the angle of land where the swift cold river Bruinen came racing down out of the heather uplands to join the wider grey waters of the Mitheithel. It was hardly a fortress, but it was the most defensible place immediately to hand. Neither of these were rivers that Elrond knew, but Celeborn had walked beside the Bruinen in happier days. There was some hope that the river would rise to their aid.

But now Sauron was coming out of the south in great force, and above his armies were dark clouds of smoke and storm, and the sound of the marching feet of the orcs beat harshly on the earth, and echoed menacingly from the stones.

Elrond stood armoured and armed upon the rivershore as they came into sight, with Celeborn beside him. He was glad of Celeborn’s reliable strength when he saw the banner that they carried: his cousin’s body, pierced with many arrows and hung upon a pole.

“He is free,” Celeborn said to him quietly, as Elrond’s eyes fixed on it. “He is free, and gone into the West to the land of his own people.”

Elrond took a deep shuddering breath. “Yes. Now, let us do our very best not to join him there.”

He heard Celeborn’s brief startled laugh, as Elrond raised his voice to speak words of power to raise the very stones of Eregion against the Enemy, as the archers on the rocks behind him let their first arrows fly.

******

The battle raged on all through the night: a night without stars, where terrible things roamed in the shadows, and above the sound of battle, the great echoing voice of Sauron himself roared, promising doom and terror in the dark, promising slavery and torment forever.

Time and again, Elrond’s clear voice rang out to counter him. But Elrond was not Lúthien, who once had defeated Sauron. He had no hound of the Valar to aid him, and Sauron had the Ring now, the One Ring to rule them all. And a great army driven by his will as if by whips, with Celebrimbor’s broken body hoisted over it: a threat and a promise. That too.

When the day had lightened into a grey dimness, there was no sign that the assault would slacken. They could not disengage for long enough to retreat.

And then, from the dim sky when almost all hope seemed lost, dark wings, flying nimbly in to perch for the briefest moment on Elrond’s shoulder, and a raven’s croaking voice. “Help is coming. Durin sends aid. Hold on.”

And so in hope, they fought on, and beside them, the river fought, and the very rock of the land answered their desperate call for help, and great boulders came rolling down from the heights to crush the orcs.

And none of it enough, until at last they heard the cry in the far distance, far to the south behind the enemy army: “Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!”

Dismay was rippling through the enemy ranks. Now they could hear the sound of horns, not the braying orc-horns, but the lighthearted music of joyful hunting horns ringing clear, and in the far distance there was a great light suddenly blazing, not a flame, but a clear light like the summer sun on a hot day.

The enemy turned to meet the new threat, and moved away.

Elrond stepped forward to the water’s edge, and wiped his sword clean, as he watched Sauron’s forces wheel away. The sword seemed to have become much heavier than it usually was.

“What is that?” he said to Celeborn, once he had his breath back, for Celeborn clearly had recognised the sound of the horns.

“The music of the horns is that of Amdir of Lórinand and his people,” Celeborn said, smiling, though his face was smudged and tired, and there was fear in his eyes. He pointed a finger at the great golden light that lit the southern sky, which clearly dismayed the orcs even while Sauron drove them towards it. “And that is my Galadriel.”

Elrond looked south in some alarm. “Galadriel has come to confront her brother’s killer?”

Celeborn winced. “She has the wisdom not to risk Finrod’s fate,” he said, and Elrond had the distinct feeling that he was saying it to convince himself as much as Elrond.

“The Dwarves are with her too,” Elrond said, to reassure him in return. “They are stone-hard in battle and toil, and tireless in friendship, Celeborn. I know you don’t care for them much, but she could not be better protected inside a fortress.”

Celeborn made a face and sat down upon the river-shore, clearly exhausted. “I suppose I should find that comforting,” he said. “But here, we have a respite, at least. Shall we make use of the breathing space given us to gather up the wounded and get away from here?”

Elrond looked around at the weary people around him, and nodded. “We’re in no state to press an attack, but I suppose we can at least get up into the high ground and lick our wounds.”

They followed the line of the River Bruinen north, keeping as close to the river as the land would allow. The River had proved a loyal ally in desperate straits, and Elrond was in no mind to leave her behind unless he had to. It meant they were not short of water, too.

The wounded were piled into the wagons to give them what rest they could, and everyone else, Men, Elves and horses, walked together, wearing armour and with weapons close to hand. The Ravens, flying from Khazâd Dum along the line of the mountains to avoid the orc-arrows, brought them news that the relief force of Dwarves and Elves were retreating back towards the West-gate of Khazâd Dum with Sauron close behind them. If they managed to slip through the enemy’s hand and vanish under the mountains, Elrond knew, the Enemy would turn north again and would soon be on their trail.

The Bruinen led them through rocky steep-sided valleys lined with ferns and cragged oaks, mingled with pale-trunked birches and rowans, all starting to turn gold and brown at the edges. They were beyond the limits of Sauron’s burning now, in lands that had escaped the darkness and the smoke.  Lands that were still warmed by the remnants of a fading northern summer, where birds still sang in the trees. They were tired and full of grief, but the the golden light glancing on clear water, green grass and the voice of the river singing to herself was a healing and a joy after the strain of battle.

After a while, they crossed the swift shallow stream where it ran across stone and gravel to the more open slopes of the eastern side, where the wagons and horses could more easily find a path. There they met more refugees fleeing the ruin of Eregion, in greater numbers, this time, sometimes well-armed and moving in companies. Elrond assigned them places in his own marching line, and they went on.

The land was rising towards the mountains as the Hithaeglir began to curve northwards ahead of them. Sometimes they could see the mountain peaks above the tawny flanks of the nearer hills, blue with distance, dusted white with snow.

At last the Bruinen led them into a long deep valley among the hills, where wide green meadows and gold-tinged woods ran down gently to the water and high above them, pinewoods shone in the sun on cliffs so steep that you could see the rock through the darkness of the trees. Streams fell down in waterfalls from the cliffs to join the Bruinen in the valley floor.

“If it were not for this way beside the river, this valley would be very nearly a natural fortress,” Berengar said to Elrond, from the place where he was sitting in the first wagon.

The axe that had hit Berengar’s ankle in the last battle had taken his foot, but they had stopped the bleeding and Elrond had said words over the leg himself to dull the pain. Berengar would probably be able to walk well enough in time, once the wound was healed, once there was time to make him a wooden foot and allow him to get used to it, but he had not got over the shock yet. Riding in the wagon over the rough ground was not the easiest way to travel. Talking was something of a distraction though, and also it meant he could watch over the wounded more closely, so Elrond had chosen to walk his horse beside the wagon.

He looked around at the steep and distant cliffs. “A host could lie hidden here, and the walls would be hard to breach,” he said. “A good point. It would not take much work to set this pass that we have used into defence.”

“It might be good to stop moving for a while,” Berengar said. “We would all benefit from a rest, I think,” His face was set and enduring, but Elrond noted how his hand clenched on the wood as the wagon jolted on the stones.

“We would. I’ll send out riders to explore the valley and determine what other ways there are to enter it. We’ll camp here tonight, at any rate.”

“Good,” Berengar said. “These wagons of yours are a truly foul way to travel, Elrond! It’s come to me that should have held this war near the sea. Then we could have retreated in ships. Ships would be so much better than wagons.”

“I’ll make a note,” Elrond said, amused. “Perhaps we could suggest it to the Enemy.”

“Propose a rematch on different ground? It has to be worth a try. Tell him he can bring some sort of foul seamonster. I bet he’d like that”

“Myself, I feel that I prefer a war without seamonsters,” Elrond said gravely. “But then, I still have both my feet at present.”

He held up a hand, and gave the commands to begin setting up camp and to send out riders to explore the valley.

“It would be good to have this valley as a stronghold to retreat to,” he said to Berengar and to Celeborn, who had come up to join them. “I’m very tired of running! But I don’t know how we would supply ourselves. If we stop here, we could end up standing siege, and our supplies are already low.”

Celeborn smiled. “I see trees bearing nuts and apples in the woods, there are onions, sorrel and pignut in the grass here, and many sweet berries in the bushes. Along the river, reedmace is growing.”

“Enough to feed an army?” Elrond asked doubtfully.

“Among all your Edain and Noldor, Elrond, do not forget that you also have a lord of Doriath.”

It occurred to Elrond then that had perhaps insulted Celeborn, but Celeborn shook his head. “An oversight,” he said kindly. “Understandable in a commander who has had a great deal to think of. And you never knew Doriath, to my sorrow and your great loss, Elrond. But we shall speak with the trees and meadows and ask their help, and I think they will aid us generously. Do not be concerned about supplies.”

“That’s a great relief to me,” Elrond said. “Forgive my doubt! You must show me how they spoke to the trees in Doriath. I would dearly love to learn more about it.”

“I will delight in teaching you the art, once we have the valley set in defence,” Celeborn said with a smile. “In the meanwhile, I can see to it on your behalf. But I came with news. A messenger has come. I have left the Raven to be cared for with the wagons at the rear, for he is exhausted, but he has told me his news. Galadriel, Amdir and her... friends have retreated into the Dwarf-mines, and are safe. The door is shut and barred, and Sauron sits before it with a great army, but he cannot break in. She sends warning that he may turn North again.”

“Oh, good,” Berengar said wearily. “Another battle. Just what I wanted. And this time I only have one foot to stand on.”

“But it seems we shall at least have enough to eat, and there will be no more riding in the wagon for you,” Elrond said, cheered by the news that Elves of Lorinand and the Dwarves had escaped. “Good news, that part of it, anyway Berengar!”

Berengar gave a heavy sigh, pulled himself upright, and then painfully balanced himself on his remaining foot and a makeshift crutch. “Sometimes you Elves are far too cheery,” he said. “I’m off to find some Men to complain to. Grumbling is one of the great consolations of a mortal life, and I intend to take full advantage of it.”


	4. Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battles are won, but not the war.

The valley which they had started to call Imladris, the Riven Dell, made an excellent stronghold. There were only a few places where deer trails led down winding paths along the cliffs, and the main route that they had used to enter along the river that could be used by attackers. Some of the paths they defended with cunning guard-rooms set within the living stone of the cliff, invisible to anyone who might be entering from without, as well as with enchantments set deep within water, tree and stone. Others they blocked entirely.

More people had escaped the ruin of Eregion and the ravaging of Eriador than Elrond had feared at first. By the time autumn had coloured the trees in the valley yellow and brown and the wind had begun to whirl them away into the river, several thousand of the surviving Noldor of Eregion had found their way from their ruined homes to swell Elrond’s host. And so there were a fair number of expert hands ready to build walls and work stone, though they had more weapons of war than stoneworking tools among them.

Elrond had to school himself not to look too hopefully at the faces when new refugees arrived. There had been so many old friends in Eregion beside Celebrimbor.

But the arrivals were not only Elves. Many of the villages of Men scattered here and there across the wide woods and plains of Eriador had been burned and ruined, and the survivors had fled north, hearing rumour of Elrond and hoping for protection. Where there were Men, there were, inevitably, pregnant women and children too. They could not be expected to endure a northern winter under canvas, and so the most urgent work was to build shelter for them and for the wounded, particularly the Men of Berengar’s company who were less able to endure the cold than Elves.

It was a bitter winter, that year, with a biting wind that blew from the heights and glazed the pines with a thin fierce stinging snow. Everyone who was not on watch duty huddled beside the fires, in shelters of wood and stone for those who were most in need of them, or under thin canvas awnings for Elrond, Celeborn and their people, and they warmed themselves with songs of warmer, kinder days.

But when the spring came at last, with leaves unfurling and grass waving under blue skies upon the hillsides for the horses to graze, ravens came in warning from Khazad-dûm.

Sauron had left his camp beside the Westgate, and was marching North.

*****

Celebrimbor’s body still hung high on its pole above Sauron’s host, though after the long winter it was blackened, held in place with chains and barely recognisable any more. But they all knew what it was.

  
Elrond met the Enemy outside the walls of Imladris. He had discussed the matter with his captains, who had all been against it until Elrond had put it in the plainest terms.

“He is coming for the Three Rings,” Elrond said. “We have no rings to give him, and he will not believe us if we tell him that. But of all of us gathered here, there is only one of us who he will expect to hold a Ring. If I stay within the valley, I believe he will not go until he has broken it and slaughtered everyone here. If I go out to meet him, there is a chance he will be satisfied with that, and leave the valley be.”

“That’s what the Lord Celebrimbor did,” the captain of the remaining Noldor of Eregion said frowning. “It did not save Ost-in-Edhil.”

“He bought you time to leave, and he kept the Three from the Enemy.”

Celeborn said, looking deeply unhappy, “Surely there must be another path to take. You are not one of the Noldor, Elrond. You do not have to throw yourself at danger like one of their brave mad kings.”

Elrond laughed. “I do not intend to be a second Fingolfin, Celeborn! But I am Celebrimbor’s cousin, I am of the royal house of Gondolin, and more than either of those, I am the great-grandson of Lúthien, who defeated and humiliated Sauron, and Beren, who took a Silmaril from the Iron Crown. Tell me honestly, do you think the Enemy will expect the Three Rings that Celebrimbor made to be anywhere else?”

Celeborn rubbed at his face and looked away.

“I will not imitate either Celebrimbor or Fingolfin,” Elrond said. “I shall endeavour to follow Lúthien’s example, and Beren’s, and use stealth and subtlety... in the tradition of Doriath, I hope. I will make a nuisance of myself elsewhere, so they know I am not here, and then slip quietly away.”

“You think he’ll let you get away?” Berengar said with considerable scepticism.

“Well, not by choice,” Elrond said reasonably. “But he is greedy, impatient, and hungry for power at all costs. He thought he could win over Celebrimbor by force, with an army of orcs. Something that makes me wonder if he had ever actually talked to Celebrimbor about anything except metalwork...”

“And he thinks that Elrond could be daunted by terror,” Celeborn said and nodded. “He is far from all-knowing. Very well. You are our commander; it's your choice.”

*****

 And so now Elrond stood some miles south of Imladris upon a great rock outcropping flung out from the main line of the Hithaeglir, and saw his Enemy approach. A few of Celeborn’s Doriathrim Sindar were with him, all of them dressed in dull brown and green, but over his dull tunic, Elrond had thrown a long red cloak, fastened with a great brooch marked with the star of Fëanor that he had borrowed from one of the exiles of Eregion. In one hand, he held a blue starred banner, marked with Lúthien’s snowdrop.

He had not dared to speak words to the wind with the Enemy so close at hand. He needed to husband his strength. But a wind came from the west without his asking, driving the clouds back so that sunlight fell upon him and the wind lifted his banner. He made, he hoped, a suitably impressive, and above all distracting figure, high above his enemies.

The great army marching under stormclouds out of the south saw him standing there, and began to turn. Orders were shouted in harsh orc-voices: arrows fired, and fell short. They had chosen the spot with some care, but the wind helped.

Elrond averted his eyes from Celebrimbor’s sagging corpse and set his eyes upon his enemy.

“Hail, oh Lord of Gifts!” he cried. “Or should I name you Abhorred, O cruellest servant of a defeated lord?”

Sauron lifted his dark helmet and looked up at Elrond with eyes full of hate. He had kept the fair face that Elrond had seen before, but the malice on it was now uncloaked.

“Elrond. It is some time since we last met in Eregion, but you see I still keep your kinsman Celebrimbor close at hand.” His voice was golden, but bitter, like gilding over iron.

“Have you come to surrender?” Elrond asked merrily. “Your kinsman Eönwë tells me you beg for mercy very prettily, but I shall not ask that of one so proud.”

“Taunt all you want, Elvish boy,” Sauron said in a voice like iron. “The Valar will not aid you. They have abandoned Middle-earth and it is mine now. I will remind you of that soon, when I have you chained forever in the dark.” He gestured, and orcs came reluctantly up towards the sunlit rocks, whining and grumbling at the light but there were whips behind them. The first fell with Elvish arrows in them, but there were more behind.

Elrond laughed, making sure the laugh was joyful, because that made the orcs blanch.

Then he turned and jumped down from the rock into the cover of the hollow behind it. Hastily he took off the red cloak, bundled the brooch with the star of Fëanor around it and shoved it into his small pack. It would not do to fail to return it to its owner.

Beside him, Gedir was bundling the bright banner into his own pack. Some of the Sindar were humming quietly, calling up a mist, and Elrond joined his voice to theirs to weave confusion through it, making shades, faint figures moving in all directions.

They turned to the mountains, where great rocks and thin pine trees hid the path, and, still weaving mist, began to run.

  
*****

  
Elrond had seen his fair share of war. But he had never been hunted before. He had never run so far, evaded, time and time again, a merciless enemy searching for him from the wild moors up and down the mountain foothills to the north of Eregion.

They were always on foot, because horses could not vanish into the woods and crags as Elves on foot could; could not lie silent in a damp ditch weaving enchantment as heavy feet stamped past, or spend the night in the cold mist in a treetop if there was need, ready to strike at the enemy and then vanish into the growing light that filtered through the clouds.

He hoped that at least Sauron was finding it as unpleasant as he was.

But at least they were keeping their Enemy busy, his great army useless against a nimble foe that tormented it by nipping at its flanks, but could never be brought to open battle. If the Enemy even knew exactly where Imladris lay, Elrond gave him no reason to launch an all-out assault upon it, no reason to even suspect the size of the host that lay quiet within it.

Elrond was always very definitely somewhere else.

For a year, Elrond fought and ran and wove enchantment, all through a long smoke-stained autumn and a winter of frost and wild winds that drove the Enemy's dark smokes and vapors in long streams away into the hills. At night, the stars burned sharp and merciless in a clear dark sky. In the west, the Evening Star was brilliant as a watching eye.

Elrond would have appreciated more substantial assistance, but he was prepared to take what he was given.

But as the year warmed again into the late Northern spring, they found that the Enemy had given up the attempt to snare Elrond. Instead, he had gathered together most of his scattered forces, and marched away West.

Elrond returned to the valley to take counsel.

He found Imladris in a fair state of defence. Elves of Eregion had bridged the Bruinen running through the valley with a single bridge, a narrow unfenced span just wide enough for one horse at a time to pass, and high enough that the river could rise in fury unchecked beneath it. An army could probably pass the river eventually, but it would be far from easy to do so if the bridge was held. Many of the crags high in the valley-walls had been pierced with tunnels, rather in the Dwarvish manner, to create routes to vantage-points for archers.

The provision for places to sleep and eat was much simpler, but after a year on the run, a tent supplied with a clean warm linen-covered straw mattress and thick woollen blankets seemed like the height of comfort.  There was a raised clay hearth just outside too, built in the old Silvan style in the open air.

“He’s heading for Lindon,” Elrond told his captains, when they were assembled around the fire. “I’m sure of it. We have proved too much trouble,so he hopes to pin Gil-galad against the coast, where it will be hard for him to slip away.”

“I hope the High King and Círdan are ready for him,” Galdor said frowning.

“We all hope that,” Elrond said. “This might be the moment to strike with all our strength at the enemy’s rearguard, when they are heading west and not expecting us.”

Celeborn puffed out his breath in frustration. “I don’t think it can be done, Elrond. He’s left an army encamped in the high land between the rivers Mitheithel and Bruinen. It’s there to stop us doing exactly that. They have the advantage of the land, and there are many trolls among them. We won’t be able to sweep them away in a sudden assault.”

“Can we circle round them to the south?” Berengar asked.

Elrond shook his head reluctantly. “I was dodging all over that country late last summer: it’s full of crags and caves. If we found a way, we would be leaving an army unfought behind us, and they’d be fools not to come down on us as we crossed the Mitheithel.”

Celeborn added gloomily, “The land further north is broken and rocky. We could not hope to take cavalry across it, or march in any kind of order.”

“No choice then,” Elrond said. “We cannot come to the aid of the High King, except by holding on. At least it weakens the Enemy, that he cannot take his entire force with him against Lindon. Beyond that, we must endure, and wait for help from Númenor.” He ignored Berengar’s grimace.

## Hope comes from the Sea.

Help out of the West was slow in coming. For a year the fragmentary tidings that came to the hidden valley were grim. The doors of Khazad-dûm were closed. The Numenorean settlements along the coast had been ruined, and Sauron was pressing his advantage ever westward, through the White Downs and the taller hills beyond and on into Lindon itself.

If Elrond had known that Gil-galad had been forced back to the very walls of Mithlond, and that a great new army of Men out of the south was advancing along the coast to re-inforce Sauron’s armies, he might have tried to break past the army that had been left to keep him penned in the east, unable to come to the king’s aid. But nobody in Imladris knew about that, not until it was over.

Elrond only heard what was happening in Lindon when at last a flock of great white rowdy crying gulls came winging their way all the way to Imladris, bringing among their wild squabbling arguments, loud declarations of triumph at having flown so far, and raucous demands for food, news that Minastir, the Queen’s Heir of Númenor, had come to the aid of Middle-earth at last.

He had brought a great navy that had filled all the harbours of Mithlond, Harlond and Forlond, filled with a mighty army of Men. They had relieved the siege of Lindon, and pushed the Enemy back to the passages of the Baranduin. There a great battle had been fought, and Sauron had been driven back. Minastir and his admiral Ciryatur were chasing the Enemy through Eriador.

But Gil-galad was marching East.

Elrond’s host assembled outside the walls of Imladris. They had come to Imladris as many different peoples with very different histories. Noldor out of Lindon, from old families of Gondolin. Elves of the Falas, Sindar of Doriath, refugees of Eregion with not a few kinslayers among them, Men of Númenor, and Men out of Eriador whose ancestors had never seen the Sea.

They marched out again as one host, who had lived and worked, eaten, sung and fought side by side through the years of siege, under Elrond’s banners.

And the army that had been set to trap them, to keep them from coming to the aid of the High King, was caught between Elrond’s host marching West, and Gil-galad’s marching East, and was utterly destroyed.

  
******

  
“So, show me this valley you’ve been hiding away in since Eregion fell, leaving me to do all the work,” Gil-galad said, once the initial joyful greetings were over, they had discarded armour and the wounded had been cared for .

Celeborn, who happened to be within hearing, bridled. “Elrond has hardly been hiding!” he began angrily.

Elrond hastily put a hand on his arm. “He’s only teasing me, Celeborn.” He gave Gil-galad a thoughtful sideways look. “After all, everyone knows the King sat comfortably at home while we did all the work.”

Gil-galad laughed. “Wait till you see what a mess Sauron has made of the land between the Downs and the Baranduin,” he said. “We did our small share, I promise you. But I’m very glad to see that Elrond is in one piece still, truly Celeborn. Well, more or less in one piece.”

Elrond glanced down at the bandages. “I took a wound on that arm before, a couple of years ago. It was probably still a little weak, and now it’s letting me down.”

“Stay out of fights for a few years,” Gil-galad advised him.

“Oddly enough, I was hoping to do just that,” Elrond said. “Shall we go on? I want to introduce you to my friend Berengar of Lond Daer. He’s even more testy than you are.”

“I am not testy,” Gil-galad said with great dignity.

“All right then, O stern and dignified king,” Elrond said, smiling. “Come and meet him anyway. _He’s_ definitely testy. Some would even say crotchety, though he does have a missing foot to excuse him: that’s why he didn’t march to battle with us. ”

“Do you have many wounded?” Gil-galad asked more seriously. “Should I arrange for salves and bandages to be sent before we leave?”

“We had too many wounded when we came to Imladris, and more that came struggling in from Eregion and the villages of Men in Eriador, in the first year. But since Sauron went off to visit you, no. The wounded in the valley have been treated and are as well as they could be. But bring tents! We’re somewhat short of housing still, and I’ve spent enough time sleeping on the ground recently, so I’d rather not give up my bed for you! Come and see.”

 

******

 

They rode on to Imladris with a strong escort. There might still be a few orcs or trolls lurking hidden in the hills. But Imladris was well defended, and the Enemy was far away, being pursued with his few remaining forces through the Gap of Calenardhon by Minastir of Númenor and his host.

They visited the houses of the Men who had fled to Imladris, the meadows where the horses of Elrond’s host grazed. They talked with Berengar and his Numenoreans, and inspected the ingenious rock-built defences.

That night, they even held a victory feast, though the joy of having won the battle was tempered by the grief for all those lost, for Eregion ravaged and Eriador laid waste.

Eventually, there was at last a little time for the High King and his Herald to walk together up into the white-stemmed birch-woods of the valley side, while above the fine dappling of birch-leaves the sky began to darken to a deeper velvet blue, while the sky in the west was glowed a faint gold and clear crystal green in the afterlight of sunset.

“I was sorry to hear of Celebrimbor’s death,” Gil-galad said, after they had walked quietly together for a while.

“Yes,” Elrond said, and went on under the darkening branches.

“Galdor told me that you felt it,” Gil-galad said. “That can’t have been easy.”

“No,” Elrond said, and stopped on the edge of a sharp drop, where you could look out westward and see the evening star kindling into brilliance as the evening grew into night.

“He meant it to hurt you too,” Gil-galad suggested. “The Enemy.”

“Oh yes,” Elrond said, and leant back against the white trunk of a birch tree, looking only at the star. “It was a weapon, Celebrimbor’s suffering, directed at the leader of the host of his foes, as well as an attempt to gain the Rings. Although I’m quite sure that Sauron enjoyed it, too.”

Gil-galad made a sudden, almost convulsive movement with one hand. “Such things delight him. Hard to understand. Impossible to forgive.”

“It did not work as he intended,” Elrond said, and turned to look at the king. “He meant it as a threat, to break my resolve, to send me running in fear. But long ago Fëanor, his seven sons, and Celebrimbor marched out against the Enemy, though they were doomed to the wrath of the Valar from the West unto the uttermost East. Fëanor died with his face to the Enemy, but not one of his sons did the same. Celebrimbor did. He tried to heal, to understand and forgive, and when at last he died, it was a worthy death.”

Gil-galad looked at him and frowned. “Just occasionally, you frighten me, Elrond.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone,” Elrond said and gave a slight smile. “You’re supposed to be the stern and daunting one. You know, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he had come back.” He nodded at the distant star. “But there he still is, watching the sky. It seems a lonely fate.”

Gil-galad looked out at the star. “I would dearly like to speak with Eärendil again. Strange to see a friend distant in the night sky. But perhaps one day we will meet once more.”

“Not for many long years yet,” Elrond said, caught by a sudden dark and bitter vision. “Not until the world is changed and doom has come upon us all, and perhaps not even then.”

Gil-galad put a comforting arm around his shoulder. “I think we have had enough doom for now,” he said. “Save some for later. We have won a good number of battles, if not the war.”

“No end to that in Middle-earth, I fear,” Elrond said, but he leaned on his king’s strength.

“Perhaps not, but then, if we had wanted a surety of safety we would have sailed west long ago. It’s not too late to do that. Go to Tol Eressëa, live under the protection of the Valar forever. No more war, no more grief.”

“No!” Elrond said, startled. “Surely you don’t want that?”

“I don’t,” Gil-galad said. “But I did not have to see a dearly-beloved kinsman fall into darkness, then die in torment. I don’t look ahead and see changes of the world and dark doom all around me.”

Elrond thought about it, in the quiet shadow of the birches, leaning companionably on Gil-galad's warm shoulder. “It wouldn’t be an end to grief,” he said at last. “It would mean leaving all my mortal kin to the darkness. I can honestly say I have no desire to do that. We have weathered the storms of Middle-earth before, after all, even when the world seemed dark and the Great Enemy invincible. I refuse to be driven off by Morgoth’s servant. Particularly when he is being hunted into the East with Minastir and all his host upon his trail! There’s joy and peace ahead for a while.” He looked sideways at Gil-galad and smiled. “Anyway, what would you do without me?”

“Competent Heralds who are also able captains are hard to find,” Gil-galad said smiling back. “I hoped you’d say that. We’re going to need an outpost in the East, to watch for the Enemy now that Eregion is fallen. I thought this valley might be the place for it. It is much better defended than Eregion ever was. What do you think?”

“The defences are excellent, and it’s a pleasant place, too. You want me to stay here?”

“I thought I’d leave that choice to you. I can find someone else, if you would rather come back to Lindon. I’ll miss you, if you stay here. But you are the obvious choice, if you want to do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Elrond said, and straightened dutifully.

Gil-galad took his arm back and sighed. “There are people coming down the path,” he said, looking out across the wide valley to the rocky cleft on the far side where the path led down towards the river. The newcomers were carrying lanterns with them, so they were easy to pick out even at a distance in the dark. “Silvan elves, I think, from their green tunics...”

A flash of distinctive shining golden hair came into view in the lamplight, far away on the cliff-path “Not only Silvan,” Elrond observed. “That is Galadriel, surely... She has come seeking Celeborn, no doubt. I would send a greeting, mind to mind, but until we know exactly where the Enemy has gone, it seems safer not to, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Gil-galad said sombrely. “We may have beaten him off, but we have not taken him or his Ring.”

“Nor the other rings of power,” Elrond said, unhappily. “Six of the Seven and the Nine are gone with him, so far as I can make out from the confused accounts from Eregion. All those who held them are dead, save for Durin of Khazâd Dum. I sent him warning that the thing should be kept safe, unused. I hope he heeds it.”

“Perhaps Galadriel will have some insight into the problem of these rings. That must be her daughter riding with her, don’t you think? I’ve never met her.”

“Nor I,” Elrond said looking down to the green lands beside the narrow bridge and the riders approaching. “Galadriel left Eregion when she was quite young. By now she must be grown and old enough to ride out with her mother. Her name is Celebrían, I believe.”

“Let’s go down and meet them,” Gil-galad suggested.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in the relationship between Elrond & Celebrimbor as shown in this story, you can find out more about what they did in the War of Wrath here : [ Faithless Is He That Says Farewell When the Road Darkens](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12099708)
> 
> There's also sequel to this work, [ Cornflowers in Belfalas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978189/chapters/42465764) which tells how Elrond and Celebrian met and fell in love from Celebrian's point of view. 
> 
> Glorfindel does not appear in this story, but if you prefer the version of the story where Glorfindel arrives in the Second rather than the Third Age, he could be just off-camera. It's also unclear exactly when Vinyalondë became Lond Daer, and when Tharbad was founded, so I made that up. 
> 
> **Timeline:**  
>  750 : Foundation of Eregion.  
> 863-ish Aldarion in Middle-earth trying to set up a port at Vinyalondë (later called Lond Daer).  
> 882 : Aldarion returns from Middle-earth with a letter from Gil-galad that tells of a new shadow rising and asking for help, saying he and Aldarion lacked the numbers to build havens in Middle-earth to protect Eriador. Particularly concerned about the Gap of Calenardhon & Enedwaith.  
> 883 : Aldarion takes the Sceptre of Numenor, & returns to Middle-earth  
> 885- 1075 at some point during this time Aldarion meets Galadriel at Tharbad.  
> 1,200 Gil-galad rejects Annatar, who goes to Eregion & joins Celebrimbor.  
> 1,350 After this time, Galadriel leaves Eregion and go to Lothlórien. Celeborn remains behind. (Unfinished Tales)  
> 1,500 The Rings of Power are forged; Sauron departs Eregion. (Unfinished Tales)  
> 1,556 Queen Tar-Telperiën takes the Sceptre.  
> 1,590 The Three Rings are completed.  
> 1,600 The One Ring is forged; Barad-dûr completed; Sauron openly proclaims himself.  
> 1,693 The Three Rings are hidden; War of the Elves and Sauron begins.  
> 1,695 Sauron invades Eriador, crossing the River Gwathlo or Glanduin. Elrond sent to Eregion by Gil-galad  
> 1,697 Sack of Eregion; Death of Celebrimbor; Rivendell founded; Dwarves assail Sauron from behind; Khazad-dûm closes.  
> 1,699 Sauron overruns Eriador.  
> 1,700 Defeat of Sauron by the Númenóreans sent by King's Heir Minastir and commanded by Ciryatur who arrive in the nick of time to save Gil-galad who is under siege.  
> 1,701 Sauron driven from Eriador; First White Council held; Galadriel and Celeborn depart for Belfalas.  
> 1731 Tar-Telperien dies, Tar-Minastir takes up the Sceptre of Númenor 
> 
> In The Tale of Years it is stated that Tar-Minastir sent a great navy from Númenor to Lindon in S.A. 1700. This event and date are restated in The History of Galadriel and Celeborn, mentioning Tar-Minastir again. Yet in The Line of Elros, Tar-Telperiën is said to have lived to S.A. 1731 and not have given up the Sceptre until that time, which would mean she was the ruler of Númenor when the great navy was sent. 
> 
> For the purposes of this story, I have assumed that Tar-Telperiën was indeed Ruling Queen during this entire period, but that Tar-Minastir managed to convince her to appoint him as her deputy in matters relating to Middle-earth, perhaps around 1697-8. This was why the great fleet from Númenor was delayed and took so long to arrive: Tar-Telperiën had no great interest in Middle-earth, and it was some time before Minastir managed to convince her to allow him to build and equip a war-fleet.


End file.
